


loves' cold embrace

by iamnotalizard



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Getting Back Together, Growing Old Together, Healing, Post-Canon Fix-It, Reunions, mild depictions of canon-typical violence, whats better than this just some old grandmas getting another shot at love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29053233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnotalizard/pseuds/iamnotalizard
Summary: She misses the chill of the tundra, the crashing of the ocean and the shattering screams of icebergs colliding. She misses the soft embrace of caribou fur and leather in her parka and the softer embrace of the woman she was stolen from. She misses the howling winds that used to sing her to sleep as they passed over the great iced plains, and the gentle voices of her family as they laughed and needled each other. The ocean that used to live in her chest is now a desert, barren and dry.--OR;Like the moon in the sky, Hama's love never really leaves her.
Relationships: Hama/Kanna (Avatar)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21
Collections: Avatar Rarepair Exchange 2021





	loves' cold embrace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earthbendz (adroite)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adroite/gifts).



> hey !! happy avatar rarepair exchange lol !! I hope this fic to to ur liking, it kinda morphed into more of a character study? but i hope you like it :~) love these old sapphic women  
> big thanks 2 my pals (esp moss!) for beta reading this !!!

Hama doesn’t think too much about her childhood. It makes her feel too mournful, too angry, too beholden to feelings that, at her age, her heart can’t afford to feel. What few memories that do creep into her consciousness are so wrapped in nostalgia and childhood innocence that Hama can’t even recall if they’re real or fabrications of what she wishes she lived. Certainly, she had caught fish with her family, but were the nets ever as lively as she remembers? Was her girlhood parka truly that soft and was that wind actually so forgiving against her cheeks? Hama doesn’t dwell on it, simply letting the fuzzy memories tumble in her head, comforting, warm, forgotten and ignored.

There are two memories, two days, which consistently force their way to the forefront of her mind, drawing her attention and draining her energy. One, of course, is the day she was taken from her hold, stolen, like an amputation performed without so much as a strip of leather to go between her teeth. And in contrast to the searing pain of that one, the other is much kinder. Softer, warmer, more friendly in its own way.

At the age of fifteen Hama was proud and kind and bored, days of choring and practicing and schooling all blending together into barely distinguishable slush, finally broken by the announcement that a girl on a boat with a blue sail was approaching. Almost half the village rushed to see the newcomer, and Hama pushed her way to the front of the crowd, only a few heads behind the chief and other warriors, just in time to see the girl pulling her boat up the icy shore.

Her face was sharp and her lips chapped from weeks uncountable at sea. Her clothing was familiar but strange, the patterns and beading not quite right, the shade of the leather just a bit off, but almost recognizable. Her boat was wrecked but its pieces would be salvageable for other things, and the chief softly told her that her trip was a one-way one. Hama could never forget the fierceness that laid behind the girl’s eyes, the determination in her voice as she said, “I know.”

She brought news of the location of Fire Nation ships, bags of leathers and dyes and scrolls that had been unseen in the South for decades, and perseverance that seems to infect everyone with whom she spoke. Her name was Kanna, she was from the Northern Water Tribe, and, to Hama’s delight, she was here to stay.

  
  


In the weeks that followed Kanna’s arrival, Hama can barely separate herself from the older girl. Everything about Kanna was just so interesting - the stories of her travels, the few morsels that she would share of her life in the Northern Tribe, her laugh, the way she styled her hair, the different ways that she tried to fish - everything about her made Hama want to cling to her and never let go, like the barnacle at the haul of a ship. To her delight, Kanna didn’t seem to mind. Anytime Hama called to her from across the village square, Kanna would always wait, smile back at her, unmoving until Hama caught up and they could both continue on their day. 

She doesn’t recall when they shared their first kiss, or who first pressed their lips against the other. All she remembers is the warmth of her cheeks after it happened, how her lips tinged, and how excited she was when it happened again. Was the tone playful? Was it shy? Was Hama pretending to be cooler, more mature than she actually felt? (Hama knows, almost for certain, that the latter is correct.) 

Hama knew that she was beautiful, knew that she was smart and impressive and that many other teenagers would fall over themselves to try and keep her attention, and yet it was Kanna’s sly smile and gentle gaze which made Hama feel weak in the knees and made her feel like the ocean lived inside her chest. They shared soft kisses, giggling in-between the press of their lips. They slipped each other’s hands into the sleeves of the other’s parka, embraced each other tightly and often when they were supposed to be working. Kanna’s hands were strong - as evident by her ability to haul even the most lively nets out of frigid water and by her tendency to make the string on bows just a bit too taut - and yet she only ever cupped Hama’s face with the utmost care, running a calloused thumb over Hama’s lips, and only ever playfully tugging on her ears to get her to hurry up. The gentleness itself was not uncommon - Hama remained beloved by her family, her friends, and her waterbending teachers, even with the exciting arrival of the Northerner - but when it came from Kanna it felt more special than Hama cared to admit. 

It was a sweet, simple existence, one that Hama was tricked into believing could exist forever. Black snow may fall, fish populations may dwindle, and one by one, Hama’s teachers and family may disappear, but surely she would be next to Kanna forever. 

Of course, that was a belief that Hama soon realized to be false. 

The Fire Nation prison was a pain like nothing Hama had experienced before. Beyond the chains that dig into her skin, and the sharp sting of hands and batons against her flesh, and the endless jeers and insults that the scum that keep her confined throw at her, there is an ache, one that dulls with time but never leaves. The distance from the ocean, from her ocean, pulls at her heart and at her core, begging her to return, seemingly uncaring that if she could, she would. For the first months and years, the moon seems to taunt her through the skylight, staring down at her, unhelpful and cruel in her judgment. 

The only pain worse than unbecoming, the twisting and dimming of self, is the reformation that follows it. The destruction of all Hama once knew about herself, the bending and breaking of who she was and its eventual obscuration. In a way, it’s freeing. In a way, it feels like damnation. 

Hama thinks back to the girl who grew up in the South Pole and the girl who sat and rotted in a cell. She feels like a distant friend, a playmate she outgrew but loved dearly. The line which connects herself to that woman of the past is tenuous, well-worn, threadbare, yet still intact. She picks up the mantle that that girl left behind and carries it with her, ignoring the aches and pains that the weight of it gives her. When Hama escapes the prison, she’s so parched she can’t even cry as she mourns for herself. 

She escapes, but she cannot leave. She has neither a ship to sail nor the sea legs that she once did. When the moon dips below the horizon it takes her strength with it and she is back to her weakened state. Even if she could get a boat, Hama wouldn’t be fit to waterbend home for many months, maybe years, and she knows that without it she will surely die at sea. The thought is almost tempting.

Being away from her home fills her with many emotions. Fear, shame, confusion, anger, longing. She misses the chill of the tundra, the crashing of the ocean and the shattering screams of icebergs colliding. She misses the soft embrace of caribou fur and leather in her parka and the softer embrace of the woman she was stolen from. She misses the howling winds that used to sing her to sleep as they passed over the great iced plains, and the gentle voices of her family as they laughed and needled each other. The ocean that used to live in her chest is now a desert, barren and dry.

The Fire Nation itself is as much a prison as the cell she escaped from, but as Hama decorates the house she built with trinkets and blankets and as many splashes of blue as she thinks she can afford. She convinces herself that it’ll have to do for now. She gains some of her strength back, bids her time as she forces a smile to the citizens who would hang her by the neck if they knew what she truly was. She gains their trust, even delivers a few babies that will grow up to slaughter the innocent. It’s not a home, not peace, the life she carves out for herself, but it’s enough to survive on. 

Hama focuses on her anger, letting it simmer in her chest, flowing through her like the tides, waxing and waning with the moon. She has neither nation nor family in the destructive land that she lives in, has neither home nor comfort nor love to soothe the piercing ache in her chest and soul. All her joys are temporary, fleeting, ending when she feels the urge to turn to her mother or siblings or Kanna and has to accept, once again, that they are not next to her. Hama holds onto her anger like a beggar grips a silver coin, edges cutting into her palms and dirt getting into her wounds. She holds onto her anger because she knows without it all she has left is the stillness of the ocean after a storm. 

Even the half-life Hama carves out for herself doesn’t last forever. The little waterbending master shows up, with a face so similar to her dear Kanna’s, and beats her at her own game. There is a whispering pride to any master that is bested by a student, but mostly Hama is tired. Burned out and smouldering. The Fire Nation takes her away in chains once again, and Hama disgusts herself with how quickly she resigns to her fate. 

Guards spend little time with Hama, and she’s kept at a distance from the windows. Still, the stone tomb that they keep her in echoes, and soon she hears whispers of the war ending, the prospect of future peace out on the horizon. Hama doesn’t know how to feel, knowing that the world may enter a time of peace and that she is still locked away like an animal. Perhaps the Southern Water Tribe will be able to flourish again. Perhaps a small part of her spirit can finally rest. 

She figures that whatever the future holds, she will not be privy to it. The Fire Nation was all too happy to lock her up and throw away the key, and Hama doubts anyone back home remembers her enough to ask after her - even so, anyone she knew who is still alive probably thinks she’s dead. 

And yet, she gets a visitor, soon after the guards have whispered about a _boy_ taking the throne. The visitor walks to her cell without fear, looks at her through the bars with sadness, not disgust. His eyes are familiar, and Hama knows that he is from the Southern Water Tribe before he announces it. She doesn’t dare call what ignites in her chest hope, even when he tells her that he’s chief. _Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe._ It echoes in her head, like the dripping of a tap that hasn’t been turned off. 

He comes back more than once, all within a few days of each other. Each time with sadness and respect in his eyes, telling Hama about the political ongoings of the world, of their home, of Hakoda’s family. Apparently, the little waterbending master that sent Hama to her new cell is Hakoda’s daughter, a fact he tells her embarrassedly, asking for forgiveness. 

Hama shrugs. It’s too hard to be angry without hope to do anything with it.

“Will you continue to visit?” Hama asks, instead of answering. “I hear that negotiations are coming to a close.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, you know. At the market.” Hakoda cracks a smile at her attempt at a joke.

“That’s actually what I was meaning to tell you,” He says, shifting on the stool that he sits on. Hama raises a thin eyebrow. “Part of the negotiations are about you.”

“...Oh,” Hama says. 

“It’s… tricky,” Hakoda continues, either oblivious to or ignoring Hama’s silence. “The Fire Lord, Zuko, uh, is worried about what some of his new ministers will say if he allows your release, and it’s complicating-”

“Release?” Hama questions, furrowing her brows. 

“What? Of course, release. We’re trying to get all the surviving Water Tribe prisoners back. Your case is just a little more… controversial, so it’s taken some time to sort everything out.”

Hama almost laughs. “And, supposing it takes much longer?”

Hakoda looks ashamed as he says, “If it takes much longer to sort out, then I will have to return home with the prisoners that have already been released, but I’m not abandoning you here. We have to leave delegates here to deal with other reparations, and we’ll make sure that you coming home is always a priority.”

Hama doesn’t know what to say to that. The prospect of returning home after so long, it excites her, fills her heart with a flurry of anxious joy that can’t be tamped down, regardless of her attempts to remain practical. 

“Unless… you don’t want to come home?”

“Of course I do,” Hama snaps, despite her best efforts. “Of course I do… I want nothing more.”

Hakoda smiles, tiredly, and Hama feels her age when she looks at him and sees a young man who is worked down to his bone. “As long as you do, I’ll keep fighting for you.”

Hama smiles, and in the heat of her cell, she feels the comforting breeze of home. “Please, Chief Hakoda, tell me about Kanna’s beading again.”

  
  


The chill of the Water Tribe greets her like an old friend, long before she can see the land. It nibbles at her old joints, makes her nose and ears pink with delight, and Hama puts off slipping the donated parka over her head for as long as possible, relishing in the welcoming sting of the wind. The anorak isn’t hers, of course, and the fit is a little off, but Hakoda tells her that his mother - _her Kanna_ \- can help her sew a new one, and as soon as everything is settled the hunters will go out to hunt. 

Hama spends as much time on the deck of the ship as she can, knowing that she’s certainly getting in the way of all the warriors and deckhands who are too polite or pitying to ask her to move. She doesn’t want to miss the first sign of land, the first sign of _home_ in countless moons. 

It feels like her heart is being returned to her chest when she spots the first mountain peak, the first thin trail of smoke from a friendly hearth, and then the first gleam of packed ice forming familiar igloos. When they finally reach the shore and, amongst the crowd of faces peering at her with admiration, confusion, sadness, anger, and joy, she spots the unmistakable face of Kanna, it feels like her heartbeat has finally been returned. 

It’s a strange shock, to see the face that she thought of so often so different from last she saw it. Everything about her is different; her hair, her skin, her clothing, even her height has changed as a consequence of her more hunched form, and yet she is still the most beautiful woman that Hama has ever laid her sights on. 

Hama has so little hope, she refuses to waste it on the implausible notion of returning to Kanna. It is clear that Kanna has lived a full life without her, she has a son who is chief, two lovely (if annoying and persistently optimistic) grandchildren, and the respect of the entire village. The girl in Hama’s memories is not the woman wrapping her arms around her, not the woman pulling Hama into her chest and crying into her shoulder, not the woman whispering thanks to the spirits as she exclaims how much she’s missed Hama. 

Being back in Kanna’s arms feels the same as it did to see the glistening mountains from the sea. It feels like coming home. Kanna leads her back to her home, grasping her arm the entire time, and tells her that they’ll start building Hama her own house soon, but in the meantime, she is welcome to stay with Kanna’s family.

“I believe your granddaughter will object to that,” Hama says. Kanna nods.

“Yes, she will,” Kanna replies, the love in her voice unmistakable. “If her remarks get too snide, let me know and I’ll make her wash the dishes for a month.”

Hama is right- Katara displeased with Hama’s presence in their home, as is Sokka. But Kanna’s firm gaze and Chief Hakoda’s unsubtle attempts to pull them off to the side for conversations keep the children’s tone from getting too snippy and makes them bite their tongues most days. The anger and fear are mostly gone from their gazes and it is the memory of the last encounter in the Fire Nation that fuels their emotions. Sometimes when Hama wakes suddenly in the night, and patters out from Kanna’s bedroom trying to calm her heart rate, she’ll see Katara or Sokka, hunched by the fire. In those moments, they share a quiet moment of understanding, a moment of recognition, of being souls who are hurt and have hurt more than their bodies ever wanted, and the children seem extra conflicted when the day finally comes. 

Hama doesn’t fault them for it. She’s a little pleased that they’ve latched onto the relief that comes with vengeance, how _right_ it feels to dwell on past anger. Kanna scolds her when Hama explains her philosophy to her, says that it’s no good to dwell on the unchangeable past instead of the influenceable future. 

“What good is looking towards tomorrow if you don’t remember the injustices of yesterday?” Hama asks, stretching out her hands that are stiff from sewing. The fabric of the Fire Nation was so thin and delicate - almost uselessly so - and it’s difficult to transition back to sewing the thick materials of the south.

Kanna hums as she considers Hama’s question. This is a new development, to Hama at least. The Kanna of her memories was quick as a whip, her words always at the tip of her tongue, ready to fly out as soon as anyone else had stopped talking. This Kanna, in contrast, tends to consider what has been said before speaking. She mulls things over before replying, taking her time to come up with important answers. 

“There’s a difference between remembering and dwelling,” is what Kanna opts for. “You don’t need to keep the fire in your chest burning any longer.”

Kanna sets down her needle and reaches out to grasp Hama’s hand. Her grip is firm and Hama knows that it is full of love. 

“You have me to warm you now.” And while that doesn’t erase the years of turmoil that Hama has lived, while it doesn’t uncloud her sight with cynicism, in this one regard, Kanna is right.

  
  


They’re both worn and weary, Hama knows, in different ways. Gone is the softness that used to surround them, the air of innocence that falsely clung to them, as it does to all children in a war, the optimistic spark in their eyes that betrayed the facade of realism that they tried to put up. They’re both old now, more cynical (Neither of them _really_ trust the child that now sits on the Fire Nation throne, regardless of what Kanna’s son and grandchildren say), and there are so few worlds left for them to venture together. Sometimes, Hama wonders what could Kanna possibly think to achieve, with her gentle touches and kisses filled with light. 

Still, Kanna walks with her, arm in arm, as they go through the village. Kanna sits with her in bed in the mornings as they wait for a pot of water to boil for their breakfast. They weave blankets and stitch clothing together, and each time Kanna makes sure to scoot her chair over so that they’re pressed close to one another. 

Hama isn’t foolish enough to think that she and Kanna were fated, but she does concede that perhaps Kanna has always been it for her. The distant glow of the horizon, the glint way off in the future beckoning her closer, the sparkle of possibility, maybe it’s always just been Kanna. 

Kanna’s lips are no longer plush and smooth; they’ve become wrinkled and thinner with age, but they’re no less soft, and they hold no less love than they did over fifty years ago. When they press against Hama’s own lips, they press with as much care and joy as they did when both of them were more youthful, and Kanna still sneaks kisses to Hama’s cheeks at the moment before they leave their home to go outside. As if Hama would ever try to stop her if she knew they were coming. 

The tenderness, the softness, with which Kanna holds her is enough that sometimes Hama can fool herself into imagining that they’ve had a long life together. That they’ve never been apart since that day that Kanna dragged her boat up the shore and filled Hama’s heart with light. 

Hama has lived an entire life away from her beating heart, an era where her love was not by her side. She holds no false illusions - Kanna has also lived a life without Hama. One that was full of love and tragedy and life and death. She has a beautiful and headstrong family to prove it, has the respect of the whole tribe and enough wit to make sure that everyone knows it. Kanna got the chance to share her love with others, while Hama spent years half-wondering what could have been, wondering if their love could have lasted, wondering if she truly loved the beautiful girl from the North or just loved the idea of being in love with her. An entire lifetime of wonder and worry and pain, only to be soothed by Kanna’s unspoken assurance that their hearts will henceforth beat as one. 

She is too old to imagine a grand future of adventure anymore, too old to want that future as well. The future she wants is one of peaceful walks and holding hands until she has to let go because her joints ache. A future of asking for help to braid her hair, and of feeling Kanna’s rough, gentle hands as they caress her face and neck while collecting all the strands. Grinning when she feels gentle lips press against her neck before she finishes getting dressed. Feigning interest in the indecipherable speech of toddlers and impressing children with simple waterbending tricks. Laughing at the antics of young men with egos that are too large and laughing at the young women who still swoon over them. Cooking for a family. Being part of a family. Seeing a smile before falling asleep. 

Hama is too old to be an optimist but she thinks she has a pretty good shot at finally living the life she wants.

**Author's Note:**

> might change the title at a later date cuz i dont super love it :/  
> also as always if i accidentally wrote some Fuck Shit or depicted a group of people poorly, lemme know and i'll do my best to fix it ! :^) my atla tumblr is @shortkingzuko!!


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